


look

by preromantics



Category: Actor RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Domestic, Hotels, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-29
Updated: 2010-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:53:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He'd sit on Zach's bed after padding down the hall before their early morning calls in just his socks, an offering of coffee in his hand and pair of shoes in the other.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	look

**Author's Note:**

> SWC Two: 5/28/10.

There was a point on the press tour where Chris started to hate hotel rooms -- specifically, his own hotel rooms.

He didn't mind Zach's hotel rooms, really. He'd sit on Zach's bed after padding down the hall before their early morning calls in just his socks, an offering of coffee in his hand and pair of shoes in the other. He'd tie his shoes and fix his tie sitting on Zach's bed while Zach tried to decide what pants to wear (he only had, like, three he usually wore -- Chris never saw the problem, but his offhand fashion advice was always met with a long-suffering sigh on Zach's part, so Chris didn't mention anything.)

He'd sit on the bathroom counter in Zach's room while Zach shaved, eyes closed and head against the mirror, the light scrape of Zach's razor against his skin and the smell of the coffee in his hands the only thing keeping him awake.

Zach would balance himself to get closer to the mirror with a hand on Chris' knee, there as if it was accidental, as if it was nothing at all, and Chris would feel that spot on his knee for hours later like an itch he couldn't shake.

They'd do interviews, so many interviews, they'd hop on planes and go to bars and drink coffee from little cafes because Chris felt weird doing the Starbucks thing, because they couldn't craft his espresso quite like a tiny indie place could. (Zach called him a coffee snob, which was true, but Chris knew that Zach had a $500 espresso machine in his kitchen that Chris had almost run out of excuses to come over and use -- not that he needed excuses, and not that he actually used it half the time he ended up at Zach's under the guise of using it.)

They'd switch planes and Chris would let Zoe punch him a few times over the course of the day and he'd let Zach cuff his neck, but he'd always retaliate -- tickles when they were alone worked best as defense, because Zach would immediately recoil and curl downwards, laugh with the brightest grin and scrunched up eyes -- and it wasn't like Chris tickled him for just that reason, it was _strategy._

They'd end up in hotels and Chris would feel restless and anxious in his and hate the bedspreads, the heavy curtains, the too-cold A/C, the lighting in the bathroom and he'd go right over to Zach's room (same bedspreads, same curtains, same bathroom lighting) and it would be much better in every way.

Zach would let Chris stay and Chris would set his alarm early to go back to his room, even when he'd roll over in the morning and Zach would be pressed along his back, all half-clothed sticky heat, and Chris would look at the early shadows on the ceiling and not want to move at all, not want to think about what all the little things meant, not want to disturb Zach but leaning over and dragging his lips over the morning stubble on his jaw, even when his lips ached to do so, just a little.

It was all about hotel rooms, really, although it was more about Zach, and -- they flew home on the last flight and Silverlake had the best espresso and the best bedspreads and the best curtains and the best bathroom lighting and none of it was in his own house, it was all at Zach's.


End file.
